


"You leave a path for me to trace."

by Nats_North_by_North



Category: Figure Skating RPF
Genre: F/M, Helsinki wolrd championships, Twitter made me do it, hickey
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-04
Updated: 2018-03-04
Packaged: 2019-03-27 03:20:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13872024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nats_North_by_North/pseuds/Nats_North_by_North
Summary: Tessa Virtue and Scott Moir's  Helsinki world championship dry-run performance gets a little friskier than anticipated. And he might just have the mark to prove it





	"You leave a path for me to trace."

**Author's Note:**

> Sue me, I went there.
> 
> I'm writing fan fiction about real people.  
> But listen; if you had seen that picture of Scott's hickey, you would be too.

Helsinki, February 2017 is one for the history books. Not because they'd locked in at a whopping 82.43 points on their short dance, or how they'd cracked the highest combined right in front of Papadakis and Cizeron- arguably their biggest competition in years.

History was made hours earlier, in the confines of the exchange room catacombs during an extraordinarily normal dry practice run-through of their free dance programme. Sam Smith had been crooning on for the last thirty minutes, and Scott and Tessa had worked up quite the sweat trying to fine-tune the last few missteps in their routine. It was a neat piece, full of dramatic, yet breezy lifts and intricate, Virtue-Moir-esque foot work which could not exactly be replicated without the sharpness of a skating blade attached to their feet. But they made do nonetheless. "We're seasoned professionals." Tess has joked, kicking her leg up as high as it could go right before they'd launch into another run through. 

"Eyes on me, Moir." As if they ever weren't.

He counts to four and then she's all up in his space, launching into the first of many lifts that come achingly close to his face; and it's all free-flowing hair and vanilla perfume from there, each rotation they execute hounding the shudders of her intoxication down his spine. She'd said eyes on her; he prays to any god that will listen he'll be able to take them off of her by the end of this.

"Extend your arms a little more-" it's a mid-music comment, huffed above Smith's high notes and Tessa only nods; knows what he means, what to do to make this thing they do look fucking perfect. If they manage to lay this down on the ice, sweat and tears included, they're in for a winner. She knows it, staring back at him. Scott knows it, and he's smiling now as they circle back to one another, testing out the waters of their partnership with every move they insinuate.

Their usual pre-Ice training consists of touch and tell; it's a last slap of reality before they take to the rink for the real warm ups. Their last shot at giving pointers without the adrenaline of competition slick in their veins.  
Normally this ship sails smoothly; but there's just something about Tessa Virtue in a sports bra that pushes Moir off his game today. He's less vocal than usual, and that's Tessa's dead ringer of confirmation. She doesn't even have to pay attention to him to know what's going on in his mind.

He hates this… vicinity of wanting that washes over them every now and again. It disrupts the minute preparations of weeks of practice within seconds; and makes every touch feel like a warzone mid bombing. She can't land a lift without arching into him, and he can't pretend like he doesn't want to suffocate between her thighs right then and there.

It doesn't help that they're skating to latch- and that she's on him for most of the fucking free skate.  
Whose idea was this again?

Tess is really good at keeping things at bay when they inevitably go south of the equator; but he can tell from the way she grips on to him now that she's just as fucked. She breathes him in, and out again; like he's made up of all the oxygen in the world and it's a damn treat, let Scott fucking Moir tell you. On a list of highs; having Tessa Virtue breathe down his neck like she's run a half marathon takes the top spot. This is better than winning worlds, better than any sex he's ever had- Because this moment's his. He owns the rights to this sequence of events, and the way her hands feel on his chest. It's off camera. This is real. 

And it hurts like hell.

Soon after Sam Smith's killer song comes to a disappointing end, and they end up replicating their closing motion of the dance in a slightly less enthusiastic hug; but she's latching on to him nonetheless.  
He can feel her fingers caress his hair, run across the shell of his ear and down the nape of his neck all in the span of seconds. He chokes a laugh into the silence and aims to pull away, but T has other plans.

It shouldn't come as a surprise when she shoves her hand into his hair and pulls him in for a kiss; but it always does. She catches Scott off guard, still breathless from the aftermath of their dry run. He doesn't even have the time to pretend to fight her when she comes for his shirt.  
Ice skating, man. There are always too many layers being worn when it really counts.  
But this time he's bare chested before she is. This time she leaves no margin for error.

Let it be known that even though Moir's as bad as it gets, Tessa Virtue has always been the worst. "Easy, kiddo." He mouths in between catching her bottom lip between his teeth. As if it would somehow breathe some composure into their entangled bodies.

What occurs next is something he's never actually thought about happening; because it's usually his move- He can count on one hand the time's he's had her this close up and personal without it being him taking the lead- but they are Tessa's lips on his skin, her hands in his hair, on his chest; and she's sucking the veritable life out of him.  
Scott can't help the smile he's wearing when he realizes what it is that she's doing.

"This appraisal's going well, I take it?" 

She bites him in response.

______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Ten hours later, when the make up his team had amusedly slathered onto his chest had slowly started wearing off, Scott realizes he's wearing Virtue's enthusiastic business stamp of approval for all the world to see.

No matter how many times he readjusts his shirt, somewhere a beady eyed fan catches the purple and red hickey peeking out from under the fabric. Photographs are being taken every five milisenconds; He'll take cash bets on how long it'll take to make the news.


End file.
